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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23349949">Rude Notes</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nadzieja/pseuds/Nadzieja'>Nadzieja</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Bastille - Freeform, Bittersweet Ending, Confused Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley denying his emotions, Crowley feels things he has no words for, Crowley is Bad at Feelings (Good Omens), Crowley's pov, First Kiss, First Time, French Revolution, Historical, Hurt Crowley (Good Omens), Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, Light Angst, M/M, Mostly Fluff, Oblivious Crowley (Good Omens), Of course they had sex in the Bastille, Praise Kink, The Fall (Good Omens), The Wall Slam, Top Crowley (Good Omens), Wall Sex</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 09:42:06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,939</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23349949</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nadzieja/pseuds/Nadzieja</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Crowley had the Arrangement with Aziraphale for a while now. It mostly just requires saving the poor gullible angel from whatever danger he's currently gotten himself into.<br/>It's simple, it's convenient.</p>
<p>Somehow Bastille is different.<br/>Nothing had prepared him for Aziraphale appearing in the middle of a French Revolution dressed as the biggest dandy.</p>
<p>What the actual fuck.</p>
<p>(Content warning for implied torture, but mostly fluff)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>274</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>My Lot Don't Send Rude Notes</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Rude Notes</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhiteleyFoster/gifts">WhiteleyFoster</a>.</li>


        <li>
            Inspired by

            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/573814">Rude Notes</a> by WhiteleyFoster.
        </li>

    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>So, I saw this wonderful art by <a href="https://whiteleyfoster.tumblr.com/post/612585496466587648/if-my-people-hear-i-rescued-an-angel-ill-be-the"> @whitleyfoster </a> and since a fic about a Bastille was already on my mind, I felt entirely enabled 😂 </p>
<p>And thank you <a href="https://aubergineorbrinjal.tumblr.com/"> @aubergineorbrinjal </a> for beta'ing it, you've pointed out a lot of things and made this work so much better:)</p>
<p>
  
</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Crowley-” </p>
<p>Aziraphale says in a tone so hopeful Crowley can feel it at the base of his spine. A smile creeps up on his face and stays there. Somehow the feeling is mutual. The angel's eyes rake over him, greedily taking the view in, looking away only to flick back a second later. </p>
<p>"Oh, Good Lord-"</p>
<p>Crowley smirks. <i>That's new. You never stared at me so openly before. </i></p>
<p>And Aziraphale <i>stares</i>. As if the angel wasn't the one dressed in laces and satine, white shirt and fancy coat, and those shiny <i>shoes</i>).</p>
<p>In the middle of a French Revolution.</p>
<p>Fussy bastard. </p>
<p>But he supposes that's what made their Arrangement possible in the first place - Aziraphale’s gullible nature and a penchant for all things human.  It transpired only later that the most difficult part of their bargain was keeping the angel alive. Most of the time, Crowley didn't mind. Most of the time, it didn't involve the time stop miracle. </p>
<p>Even Crowley had to admit it had been rather lavish of him to throw it around like there’s no tomorrow. He can't keep it up for too long if he wants this to go unnoticed. Demons down below are stupid, but not blind.</p>
<p>He snaps his fingers and metal shackles fall off Aziraphale's wrists, landing with a clank on the floor. With his eyes Crowley follows the movement of the angel's hands, nervously massaging his newly freed wrists, suddenly wanting to touch them.</p>
<p>"Well, I suppose I should say thank you?"</p>
<p>Something stirs in Crowley, when he hears those words spoken. It sounds an alarm that cannot be silenced.</p>
<p>"Don't thank me angel. If my people hear I rescued an angel, I'll be the one in trouble. And my lot do not send rude notes."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>*</p>
<p> </p>
<p>In hindsight, maybe he should have known better and left at that particular moment. Maybe just limit himself to a lunch together, but he definitely should have resumed time. This moment of clarity hits him as he regains consciousness.</p>
<p>Too late.</p>
<p>All his limbs are aching, splayed uncomfortably and tied to a chair, arms pulled backwards and bound there. Crowley tries to move but whoever did this made sure to do it properly. </p>
<p>There’s a hand in front of him holding an object that looks awfully a lot like a Leviathan Cross, emanating heat and smelling like sulphur. Images of void opening beneath his feet, flaming swords and wings turning black flash in front of his eyes.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    
  </p>
</div><p>
  <i>(art posted with permission)</i>
</p>
<p>"Look who’s woken up."</p>
<p>"Hastur, I should have known." Crowley says as Hastur's froggy face comes into focus. "Where the fuck did you get that from?"</p>
<p>"You like it?" His face widens in something that might have been an attempt to a grin. "I could choose anything I wanted to deal with your weird miracles. I thought refreshing your memory would be nice, put you right back in your box."</p>
<p><i>Weird miracles</i>, Crowley's eyes widen at the realisation, <i>but just how much… how much do they know? </i></p>
<p>Frantically he's searching his now blank mind for anything that could help him figure it out. Making Hastur angry probably isn't the best of his ideas, but it's the only one he’s got right now and he has to know.</p>
<p>"Weird miracles, huh? Since when having fun is forbidden?" He says nonchalant as anything, trying not to look at the cross. "You've got to give a bad example to humans. It’s what works best on them, but I wouldn’t expect you to understand."</p>
<p>"Shut up!" Ligur creeps from behind Crowley's chair and delivers a rather precise kick to the stomach that steals oxygen right out of his lungs and would surely send him curling into a ball if he weren’t tied in place. Instead, he falls sideways on the ground, along with the chair. Even from this angle Crowley can see Hastur grinning like an idiot.</p>
<p>
  <i>I'll get you for this. One day.</i>
</p>
<p>"You've always had weird ideas. Guess this time you went too far. And honestly, I don't even care, but I will enjoy this."</p>
<p><i>They don't know</i>, Crowley concludes with a relief. He knows Hastur, if he had anything more on Crowley he would never stop gloating about it. But there's no time to analyse it any further. </p>
<p>The cross, and with it its radiating heat, nears uncomfortably close. Crowley can almost taste it now, feels it at the back of his throat. On Hastur's command Ligur tears his coat open and rips his shirt apart, still crumpled from where Aziraphale's hands tightened their grip, uncovering his collarbone and part of his chest. </p>
<p>"This is going to hurt," Hastur says as he steps closer.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>*</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Crowley takes a few steps towards Aziraphale and smiles despite himself.</p>
<p>The Arrangement, Crowley thinks, worked quite well for him. Coming across an angel, who would agree to an easily rigged coin flip to settle just about anything, truly was a <i>Godsend. </i> </p>
<p>Back then, nothing had foreshadowed that one day he would appear in the middle of a French Revolution dressed as the biggest dandy. </p>
<p>What the actual fuck.</p>
<p>And yet Crowley feels entranced somehow. He reaches out to touch Aziraphale's cravat, so pretty against the black of his nails, yin and yang. He knows he’s overstepping and the angel will move away any minute now, tease him for it at best, scold at worst. <i>Your spidery fingers don’t belong here.</i> </p>
<p>But the angel doesn't move away, doesn't even flinch and once Crowley looks up he can see the angel’s lips parted in surprise, cheeks stained with the slightest shade of pink.</p>
<p>
  <i>Does he look so tantalising on purpose?</i>
</p>
<p>It stirs something in Crowley's stomach, reminding him of the corporeal nature of his current vessel. Human bodies have a weird design to them, full of strange emotions and wants. It didn’t make sense for God to create them this way and yet here we are. But he is not a human, he is a demon and he couldn't shed his nature even if he wanted to. </p>
<p>Time is still stopped, what's he got to lose?</p>
<p>Crowley's hands slide down Aziraphale's lapels and, in a sudden motion, push him towards the wall, pressing the angel's back to the cold stone. There's time to react, plenty of it, and Crowley waits. Their noses are almost touching. It's a tease, a dare. Temptations are his job, he knows what to do and he knows how to do it best, but  somehow <i>this</i> feels… different. </p>
<p>Aziraphale doesn't look frightened, not even a little bit, and he should, he should. He has all the reasons to be. </p>
<p>
  <i>Come on, I'm a demon, push me away. You have to! You're an angel.</i>
</p>
<p>He waits.</p>
<p>Aziraphale doesn't push him away. </p>
<p>Slowly, deliberately, Crowley reaches out to Aziraphale's vest, unbuttoning it one by one, pulls out his shirt. All the while closely observing the angel's eyes, still half-expecting him to object, to throw his arms at him and scream <i>‘Just what do you think you're doing!?’</i> Crowley gives him literally all the time in the world to do so. </p>
<p>Time remains paused.</p>
<p>
  <i>Why isn't Aziraphale stopping me? How far will he go? Either he wants this or-</i>
</p>
<p>This is when Aziraphale fists his hands into Crowley's shirt and pulls him closer. There's a moment of shock and disbelief when Crowley's heart is picking up its pieces from the floor. Aziraphale pulled him closer and that means… it means…</p>
<p>Crowley's good at this, he nudges his knee against the angel's and wedges his leg between his thighs, presses gently at Aziraphale's already tense excitement. He didn't quite expect it to be there, not yet, not so eager and ready for him. </p>
<p><i>It's just a biological reaction of the human corporation,</i> Crowley tells himself. <i>Pre-programmed and intended with one purpose in mind. It’s nothing special.</i></p>
<p>"<i>Ohhh</i>" Aziraphale releases a breath full of pent-up tension. Crowley takes this opportunity to slide his hands under Aziraphale's shirt and map his chest with his fingers, relishing in its softness.</p>
<p>
  <i>Why does it feel so familiar? Why does it feel so good? Why?</i>
</p>
<p>He's never touched the angel before, never known his texture, the hair on his stomach and curve of his hips, but he takes it in now. Now, they have all the time in the world. He will keep this memory locked in the depths of his heart, where he can relieve it over and over. He will make it last forever.</p>
<p>"<i>Crowley…</i>" the angel whispers and it sends a shiver down his spine. </p>
<p>He can't help himself (he isn't really trying). One of his hands slides down to brush at the angel's hardness and takes him into his palm. The other hand wanders down his spine and between his plush buttocks, teasing and brushing the sensitive skin in between. Aziraphale makes an unintelligible noise and his back arches, the demon buries his head in his collarbone. </p>
<p>"Can I... touch you? Please…" Aziraphale whimpers. </p>
<p>The demon was never particularly good in refusing the angel's requests. They ranged from small and insignificant favours to things verging on the Seven Deadly Sins (particularly gluttony) and Crowley had nothing against helping the angel towards them. Without a word, he snaps his fingers and his coat and shirt fall open in front of the angel.</p>
<p>"<i>Oh</i>," he places his hands on the demon as if he was something holy, digs his perfect fingernails into the flesh and embraces his boney figure. There’s barely anything to hold onto, but Aziraphale doesn’t seem to mind.</p>
<p>"You're… stunning like this."</p>
<p>Whether it's the angel's words or his touch that does it, the muscles in Crowley’s stomach clench pleasantly and his breath hitches.</p>
<p>Underneath, Aziraphale writhes against him like it's all he’s ever wanted. Another quick miracle and Crowley's fingers are slick and wet. In different circumstances he would consider achieving the same with other measures, but now everything feels desperate and wanting and it wouldn't do to wait any longer. With one finger he opens the angel up, slowly but surely sinking deeper, massaging tense and clenching muscles. </p>
<p>"F- fuck-"</p>
<p>Aziraphale chokes out and Crowley snickers at the angel’s little slip up. As a demon, he is very proud of his achievement.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>"You're a demon, Crowley. Don't forget that."</p>
<p>"It's not the sort of thing you forget."</p>
<p>He feels the touch of Leviathan Cross somewhere beneath his skin, the sensation running straight down to his heart, inducing memories he'd much rather forget, now real and all too vivid. The Fall.</p>
<p>Why is it always the Fall they have to keep ramming into your head? </p>
<p>Of course, the answer comes straight away - they want to hammer down the point that <i>you have nothing left, you're not wanted, not by Her nor anything holy. No one.</i></p>
<p>But that's not true, not entirely anyway. It's a quiet and distant thought, but one that's rooted deep within him. The memory of when he <i>was</i> wanted.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Crowley withdraws his hand to undo his own trousers and Aziraphale makes an injured noise at the loss of contact. Crowley thinks he's never been wanted so much. </p>
<p>What he really should do now is turn the angel around, press him to the wall, make it less personal so he doesn't have to see his expression, the parted lips he can't kiss (that would be too intimate) or feel those arms around him. <i>Why did you bring me here, angel? Why did you dress like this, really?</i></p>
<p><i>Shit, the time stop is still in place</i>, he remembers at once. That's definitely not going to get unnoticed now. Although he realises nothing that Beelzebub could do to him would make Crowley give this up now. Instead, he rips those fancy breeches off Aziraphale, unwrapping him like a chocolate (but leaves the shoes). The angel sends him a disapproving look, but Crowley has already grabbed the angel under the knees and is lifting him up. </p>
<p>
  <i>Is this alright? I've never done it like this before. </i>
</p>
<p>His human heart beats faster in its chest. Bloody cocoons of flesh and bone, <i>made</i> for temptations, really. </p>
<p>Aziraphale inhales sharply and entwines his hands around Crowley's neck, burying his fingers into his hair, and messing up the braid in the process. The angel's legs tangle around his back and Crowley's cock twitches with want. </p>
<p>Slowly, Crowley lowers Aziraphale down onto himself, holding him closely, chests pressed together, eyes half-shut. The angel is wonderfully warm and tight and fits so <i>perfectly</i> Crowley wonders if he used a miracle of his own. They breathe out in sync once the movement is finished and there is a split second, when everything is still and quiet. Then they are rocking together in the tight embrace, and it feels… it feels so good Crowley can't understand what's happening. </p>
<p><i>Why does it feel so different? You're a demon, you're not allowed to be happy.</i> Not like this. But he is, he is. </p>
<p>"So- good. You're so good." Aziraphale voices Crowley's thoughts out loud and an embarrassingly loud groan escapes the demon's mouth. The strange squirming feeling in his stomach intensifies. His attempts to exhale in even, measured breaths are entirely futile.</p>
<p>Aziraphale's hips stutter with so much want he isn't sure who tempted who into this, but it doesn't matter. </p>
<p>"Slowly now." Crowley chides. </p>
<p>"I- I can't-" </p>
<p>Crowley steadies him with an arm and sets a new pace, ruining Aziraphale completely. (He knows - he reads it from his features. A spectacle of emotions painted on his face only for Crowley to see). The angel moans into him, presses his forehead to his and all of their movements are being mapped out with his expressions, his moans.  </p>
<p>The angel's cock pressing onto Crowley's bare chest is hard and hot. He wishes he could feel it more-</p>
<p>"Hold on." He tells the angel and switches to grip him with one hand, curling the other on Aziraphale's bowstring taut want. </p>
<p>"Ah!"</p>
<p>The angel's nails dig into his skin, one hand on his neck, the other buried in his spine. He screams and Crowley forgets about the whole world around him, the only thing he can see-</p>
<p>"Crowley-!" The angel cries his name, the most beautiful of sounds, and latches onto the demon's lips which part without hesitation, like it's the only thing that will let them survive this now. His arms around the angel tighten as he thrusts into that perfect soft body, entwined around him like an ivy.</p>
<p>Aziraphale spills on him just as he feels the heat of his own arousal sending him over the edge. He'd scream, but Aziraphale drinks all the sound from his lips and all that escape are short, desperate moans. The angel's fingers curl around his face and their foreheads press together, mingling their hair with sweat. </p>
<p>They've reached home. </p>
<p>There are a few final thrusts, late and lazy and then Crowley sinks to his knees, overwhelmed, the angel still in his arms. They sit on the cold floor of the prison together, Crowley with his shirt undone and Aziraphale without his trousers. </p>
<p>The time is still stopped. </p>
<p>"Angel…" Crowley manages at last. What has just happened? He wants to ask, but Aziraphale puts one finger on the demon's lips. </p>
<p>"Thank you." He says again just as at the very beginning. Crowley doesn't correct him this time. <i>My lot do not send rude notes. </i>He knows he's already in it for the punishment. </p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Crowley wakes up in his house in France, disoriented and dizzy. His limbs aching where the rope has held him bound to the chair, the fresh burn still sizzling on his chest, prickling under his skin.</p>
<p>Ah yes, the French Revolution, Hastur and Ligur, his punishment. Memories trickle down to his mind. The Fall, all too vivid now and close like it happened yesterday, the taste of sulphur on his tongue. He shudders.</p>
<p>He touches the wound on his chest where the cross had been pressed, still fresh and red. It's not a regular burn, not something that would disappear with a flick of his fingers.  It smoulders under his skin and in his soul, the constant reminder Hastur wanted to engrave into him - <i>you're a demon, you have nothing left. </i></p>
<p><i>Although</i>, he raises his hand to touch his lips, it also feels that this time someone caught him and broke his Fall. He isn't ceaselessly falling anymore, the abyss is gone. This time, there were warm hands around his neck and soft lips to cushion him. This time, he <i>is</i> wanted.</p>
<p>The pain is distant now, the wound barely noticeable. It could have been so, so much worse. Both for him and for his angel.</p>
<p>
  <i>Angel.</i>
</p>
<p>It's okay. He's safe, for now. It might be best if they keep their distance for a while (however he is going to achieve that now he knows how <i>that</i> feels) and cover their tracks.</p>
<p>Satisfied, he buries himself in soft sheets that will miraculously remain clean throughout his (potentially decades long) nap. No better way of putting some distance between now and… all this. Besides, he deserves it. And he knows what he's going to dream about as well or, rather, <i>who. </i></p>
<p>Wait, this thing between them, will it ever happen again? Or was it a one time thing? It couldn't have been. They’ll just have to be careful, even more than before. Come up with a contingency plan of sorts. </p>
<p>But that's okay, he can work around that, he just needs some kind of insurance policy, like… like <i>holy water!</i> Yes, that will keep the demons at bay. He'll just have to ask Aziraphale for it, he's sure his angel won't refuse him. Not now.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>my tumblr  <a href="https://www.tumblr.com/blog/teslatherat"> @teslatherat </a></p>
<p>Another work inspired by <a href="https://teslatherat.tumblr.com/post/619121447069171713"> whiteleyfoster's art</a> - <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24377683"> MirroR or The Wall Slam Scene, Uninterrupted</a><br/>(Content warning for angst &amp; open ending)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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